


In from the cold

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cap2 spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Natasha are on the run. They're not the only ones.</p><p>[Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier]</p>
            </blockquote>





	In from the cold

Steve and Natasha are patching up their wounds at Sam’s place when there’s a knock on the front door.

Steve and Natasha look at each other.

“Are you expecting someone?” Steve asks Sam.

“No,” Sam answers, looking grim. “Nobody.”

Steve and Natasha immediately go for their weapons.

“I’m going to open the door,” Sam says.

“We’ll cover you,” Steve tells him. Sam nods, and walks to the front door. Steve and Natasha follow behind him at a distance. They stand some way behind Sam, at and angle to the front door, ready to shoot whoever’s out there if it proves necessary.

Sam opens the door a crack, and Steve can see a guy in a jacket and a baseball cap. Chin-length hair hides his profile.

“Can I help you?” Sam asks warily.

“I’m here to help the Captain,” the guy outside says, and Steve freezes, that voice reaching into his brain and drawing up memories from before his time on ice. It’s so _familiar_ , but Steve can’t quite place it.

“Look,” says Sam, “I don’t know who you are, but–”

“Tell him I’m with him to the end of the line,” says the familiar voice, and Steve _knows_ , however impossible it is.

“ _Bucky?_ ” he blurts out without meaning to, and Sam and Natasha both turn to look at him.

The guy who pushes his way past Sam is dressed like a college kid, in a hooded jacket and jeans, hair falling into his face, but Steve takes one look at him and feels like he can’t breathe.

“Bucky,” he murmurs, barely able to speak.

Bucky doesn’t smile, just looks at Steve with a blank expression. Then:

“Hello, Steve,” he says, and faint warmth enters his eyes.

“What–” Sam begins, but Bucky cuts him off.

“You picked a nice place to lay low, but they’ll come here eventually.”

“Who are you?” Natasha demands. Steve sees the way that Bucky struggles with the question, and knows that something is badly wrong.

“It’s hard for me to remember,” Bucky says at last. “I’ve been running for the last three months, ever since they gave me the kill order on Steve. Bits and pieces have been coming back to me, but mostly the memory wipes stuck. But I’m pretty sure my name’s Bucky Barnes.”

“Memory wipes?” Sam repeats, while Natasha trains her gun on Bucky and Steve’s stomach gives a horrible lurch, unsure which part of Bucky’s brief speech is more horrifying.

“What do you mean, they gave you the kill order on Steve,” Natasha asks, her tone making the question an order for information.

Bucky hesitates, his expression turning lost.

“They kept me as a weapon,” Bucky says, his words slow and halting. “I was given targets to eliminate, and when I was done they’d put me back in storage –”

“Storage?” The question bursts out of Steve.

“They froze me,” Bucky explains matter-of-factly. “In between missions.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Sam. He looks about how Steve feels.

“They took me out of cryo three months ago,” Bucky continues, “and told me that my new target was Captain America. But then I saw him, and – I knew him. I _knew_ him,” Bucky insists, oddly vehement. “I couldn’t kill him. So I ran, and I killed everyone who came after me. I remember a lot more, now. I’ve been watching you,” he tells Steve, “and I knew they’d send someone else after you eventually. So I stuck around until they did. I'm here to help.”

Steve feels like he’s going to be sick.

“What did they call you?” Natasha asks, her voice and aim still perfectly steady.

“Soldier,” Bucky replied obediently, after a moment’s thought. “Winter Soldier.”

The name means nothing to Steve, but Natasha blanches.

“What?” Steve asks her. “What does that mean? Who’s Winter Soldier?”

Natasha swallows.

“Winter Soldier is the code name of an assassin who’s been operating since the 1950s,” she tells Steve, voice strained. “He has a 100% success rate, and he’s known to be ruthless in completing his missions. One of SHIELD’s analysts once compared him to the Terminator.”

Sam whistles low. They all look back at Bucky. His hands are still in his pockets, and he looks harmless, and a little lost.

“Bucky,” Steve asks carefully, “why are your hands in your pockets?”

Bucky immediately pulls his hands out of his pockets.

“So that no one notices this one is metal,” he responds seriously, and holds out his arm for Steve to see. Most of his arm is hidden by his jacket, but where the sleeve ends Steve can see that Bucky’s hand is all sleek interlocking metal. It gives a distressed mechanical whirr at the movement, which stops when Bucky holds his arm still.

“Is it supposed to make that noise?” Sam asks cautiously. Bucky shakes his head.

“I had to get the tracker out of it. It’s damaged.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Steve hears himself say, low and bleak.

Bucky gives him a concerned look, which is – _Bucky_ is the one who’s been mind-wiped and brainwashed and hurt in God knows how many ways, and yet he’s staring at Steve like he’s the one who matters, and Steve can’t deal with that.

He closes his eyes and tries to compose himself. When he opens his eyes, Sam is still looking disturbed, but Natasha has put away her gun, something very like sympathy in her eyes.

“So, you’re here to help us,” Steve says, and Bucky nods. Steve takes another deep breath. “Well. Thanks, buddy.”

Bucky gives him a small, uncertain smile, and Steve’s heart breaks.

“Come here,” he tells his friend, and pulls him into a hug. For a moment Bucky stands stiff and confused, before he leans into Steve a little, relaxing slightly, his arms coming up to awkwardly hug Steve back like he can’t quite remember how.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve says into Bucky’s hair. He knows that he’s never quite going to forgive himself for not going after Bucky. But it’s a fact worth living with in return for getting his friend back.

“Thought you were smaller,” is Bucky’s reply, and Steve chokes on a trembling laugh, unsure whether to guffaw or cry. Instead he steps back, his hands resting on Bucky’s shoulders, and smiles at him, tremulously but genuinely. Bucky grins back, and despite everything that’s happened to Bucky, for a second Steve is so fiercely glad to have him back alive that all the breath goes out of him in a whoosh.

“Really glad you’re alive,” Steve manages.

“You too, punk,” Bucky says, his expression soft, and Steve has to blink back tears.

“I hate to interrupt,” Sam says apologetically, “but if people are going to come after us, we should really be making a plan.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Yeah, you’re right, we should. Come on,” he tells Bucky, “let’s have this conversation in the living room. You hungry?”

Bucky stops to think about the question.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding faintly surprised. “I guess I am.”

“Then let’s find you something to eat,” Steve says, “and then we can talk about what we do about SHIELD.”

 

 

 


End file.
